Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. Let him not bear the weight of my punishment. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon.
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